I pull back, letting my lips slide along Jay’s entire length until they release his cock head with a soft pop. I lick him then, savoring the salty arousal beading at his slit.
“Daisy,” he gasps. “You don’t have to—”
“But I want to. And I’d much rather do it now, right after you’ve had a shower,” I say truthfully.
“Oh god,” he chokes out, as I lick up the underside of his cock and nibble at the groove right beneath the head. “I’ve dreamed about this. More times than I can fucking count. I can’t believe you’re really here… That I… That we—”
“Shh, Jay.” I reach up, pressing my fingers over his mouth. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
He quiets, and I move my palm to rest over his heart while I take him in again, as far as I can. I curl the fingers of my other hand around the base of his dick and begin the sucking, bobbing motion I’ve performed many times. But with Jay it isn’t the same rhythm, or the same taste, or the same scent. He smells like pine and oakmoss and fresh grass, and his low moans thrill me so much more deeply. I swirl my tongue over his sensitive skin, caressing him with it as I slide his length through the warm tunnel of my fingers, my lips, and my throat. I tell him I love him over and over, with my mouth and my tongue, until he huffs two sharp breaths and yells out, every muscle in his gorgeous body tensing at once. His release spurts into my mouth, coating the back of my throat. I pull off him and swallow, helplessly wet at the thought of Jay’s cum staying inside me.
“You goddess,” Jay says faintly, reaching for me. “Come here.”
I crawl on top of him, settle against his body, and kiss him tenderly.
“I can taste myself in your mouth,” he whispers. “Why is that so fucking hot?” I giggle against his lips, and he smiles. There’s a predatorial gleam in his eyes as he tumbles me off him, onto my back among the T-shirts. His fingers curl into the fabric of my dress, dragging it upward along my thighs while I lie absolutely still, my breath short and shallow with anticipation.
His palm smooths along one bare thigh first, then the other. Then he sits up, takes hold of the panties I put on after the shower, and slides them down my legs and off my feet. I’m bare now, hot and helplessly wet. My fingers sink into the T-shirts, gathering fistfuls as I try not to squirm, not to beg. Touch me, touch me right there… His fingertips brush my clit, and I let out a quiet whine of need.
“Yes,” he croons, leaning in to kiss me while his fingers repeat that same delicate motion. Then he shifts on the bed and brings his mouth down to replace his fingers.
His tongue is slick, sinuous magic, gliding over me, through me. He’s giving my clit little kisses while his fingers sink inside me, while his thumb traces the sensitive outer lips of my pussy. I was already wild for him, and all those tiny sensations happening at once tip me right over the edge. I come hard against his open mouth, quivering against the wet caress of his tongue.
Even as I’m gasping through the shivers of pleasure, he’s bathing me with that tongue, soothing me with those fingers. When he sits up, he’s smiling, revealing sharp eyeteeth, and my breath catches a little because they were so close to some very tender parts of me. But he was careful, so careful.
The sight of those teeth snaps me back to a question that’s been lingering in my mind—one I’ve been shoving aside until I had more information. The obvious question anyone would ask, once they discovered a way to become deathlessly beautiful.
“What if the klipspringer wanted to become a cheetah someday? Not yet, but sometime?”
His eyes brighten. “The cheetah would be honored to make that happen.”
“Whenever I want?”
“Whenever you want.”
“You’re not going to brood and fuss about the loss of my humanity?”
“You won’t lose your humanity. And you’ll be a lot safer as a vampire. I won’t have to worry so much about you getting into a car accident, or a rogue vampire sucking you dry, or a piano being dropped on you—”
“All very likely to happen.”
“Just your average daily risks.”
Sighing, I stand up and pull my panties back on. So far, it seems we can’t be intimate without getting interrupted or without me feeling anxious, frustrated, even a little angry. Not because of Jay himself exactly, but because of everything that has changed—myself included. A month ago I would never imagined him coming back into my life, or coming back to life after being shot. I’d never have pictured myself considering vampirism, or debating the pros and cons that go along with it.
“I won’t like the blood-drinking part,” I say.
“You might be surprised. It doesn’t taste nearly as bad as you might think, and the experience can be…enjoyable.”
“Because you’re drinking from helpless, unconscious people and it gives you a power rush?” I start rerolling a shirt. It looks awful when I’m done.
“It’s more complicated than that. And just so you know, I usually drink from one of the staff members here.”
“Who?” I’m suddenly, unreasonably jealous of whoever it is, or anyone he has ever interacted with that way.
“Henry, sometimes, or Lillian. They don’t mind. Henry doesn’t want to turn, but Lillian says she’ll take me up on the offer once her kids are older. You know, you don’t have to roll up all these shirts. Lillian is just going to redo them. She likes things a certain way.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to make Lillian unhappy,” I say sweetly.
Jay rises amid the rumpled shirts and catches my chin in his hand, inspecting my face. “Hmm. Interesting. Very interesting. I think I have a diagnosis for your sudden mood change. You’re jealous.”
“Put some pants on,” I hiss. “And a shirt.”
“Why? It’s summertime. Maybe I want to walk around without a shirt.”
“And yet women don’t get that option.”
“I’m happy to allow you that freedom, in the spirit of equality and fairness.”
“You wish.” I flounce off the bed and stalk to the door. “I’ll be downstairs researching my weird voice condition, if you care to join me. Oh, and I’ll need a phone charger. I assume you have extras around here?”
“You assume correctly. Check the room you used earlier, top drawer of the nightstand.”
I’m in the Lavender Bedroom, drawer open, reaching for the cable when Jay rushes in, his face tense with worry. “Just got a text from Nick. We need to go to his house, now. Something’s wrong with Cody.”
15
The drive to Nick’s house takes five minutes on a good day—two minutes the way Gatsby drives. He careens into the driveway at breakneck speed and yet somehow manages to park perfectly straight, without bumping into anything.
